


Bury Me in Black (Wanna See 'Em)

by sockpuppeteer



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Disturbing Themes, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 16:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14024205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sockpuppeteer/pseuds/sockpuppeteer
Summary: Gerard was just a toddler when he watched his parents die.





	Bury Me in Black (Wanna See 'Em)

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS AND WARNINGS. You have been warned. Please comment and let me know what you thought! <3

 

Gerard was an artist.

 

When he was a toddler, he watched his parents die. There had been so much blood, scarlet-rich and viscous everywhere he looked, covering his hands and knees like a second layer of skin when he fell to the ground, creeping under his nails and clinging to the wrinkles in his tiny palms.

 

He hadn’t shed one single tear. He hadn’t spoken a word either, not for eight long months, and when he  _ did _ speak again, it was the things surrounding him that he addressed, not the people.

 

The other children weren’t like him, and the adults tried to understand things they couldn’t. He had no desire to speak to any of them.

 

The more the children teased him and laughed at him for being backward, the more Gerard sank into himself. Comfort and safety were things he could only feel when he was alone, and just after his fourth birthday, Gerard discovered his love of art.

 

Finger-painting was his favorite. He loved creating and building and drawing, but nothing else he tried could compare to dipping his fingertips into bright, warm shades and smearing them across smooth, blank canvases in winding curves and long streaks.

 

It wasn’t important what kind of paint he used as long as it left a deep, rich colour in its wake.

 

His foster parents, when they took him in, hadn’t understood his passion.  _ That’s not art! _ they cried, when he’d shared his painting of their little brown terrier with them. He’d been so excited, but they’d shattered his pride and broken him in a single breath.

 

They just didn’t see what he saw.

 

Instead, Gerard hid from their prying eyes. He stowed his work away and buried his passion for ten long, stifling years. But finally, blissfully, the day he was waiting for came.

 

Gerard turned eighteen, and left them behind.

 

His difficulty with communication still lingered from childhood. He found conversation to be difficult at best, stuttering and stunted, but he got by. He took small jobs at local bars and stores which barely paid enough for him to rent a tiny shoebox on the shady side of town, but Gerard couldn’t have cared less where it was. The less time he worked, the more time he had free to spend on his true passion.

 

Finally, he was free.

 

Now that Gerard had the space, the time, the  _ freedom _ , he experimented in ways that, before, he’d only ever  _ dreamed  _ of. He visited museums and galleries, but in the end they did nothing for him; they couldn’t compare to the things he could create with his own two hands. Instead, with any spare cash he slowly collected the tools of his trade, kept them spotlessly clean and tied everything carefully in the soft fabric his first beautiful canvas had been wrapped in.

 

It hadn’t been easy to get, but the moment Gerard saw it, he  _ had _ to have it.

 

And it was  _ so  _ worth it.

 

Exhilaration sand loud and bright in his veins, and Gerard knew.  _ This  _ was what he had been born to do. This was an artistry that he alone could bring to life.

 

_ This _ was how it should be.

 

-

 

Friends were a luxury Gerard had never needed - or wanted - before, but Patrick was different. He was cheerful, easy to be around and he had all the right features, warm eyes and a strong jaw and a mouth that curled up at the corners even when he wasn’t smiling.

 

Right from the moment they’d met, Gerard felt the urge licking at him like flames.

 

_ Can I paint you? _

 

He couldn’t stop himself blurting it out, but Patrick had just smiled shyly and agreed.

 

And he was an absolute pleasure to work with, just like Gerard knew he would be.

 

Of course, there was the initial discomfort - which was only natural - but Patrick stayed perfectly still, patient and calm until Gerard was finished. It took him until after dark, so Patrick stayed over after that, and for the first time in his life, Gerard basked in the company.

 

At work the next day, Gerard found Pete chewing on his thumbnail.  _ He’s fine _ , Gerard promised him.  _ Staying at my place. I just talked to him. This morning. _

 

It was nice, Gerard decided, to have someone else around. That night he made dinner for two and had someone to talk to whilst he sketched, and it felt good. 

 

When Pete turned up at his door, Gerard let him in without thought or question.  _ Patrick’s still here _ , he told Pete, who relaxed immediately.

 

_ Say, as you’re both here, d’you think… Maybe I could paint you both together? _

 

They posed perfectly, Pete’s head resting gently in Patrick’s lap with Patrick’s pale fingers curled through Pete’s dark hair. Looking at them, so calm and content and  _ together _ , Gerard knew deep down inside that this piece would be even better than his last.

 

The colors were brighter than ever, scent so strong and heady that they hung around him in the air long after he was done. When Gerard reverently ran his fingers across the finished piece, he almost swooned from the rush.

 

From then on, the more Gerard painted, the easier it became. He found himself being more confident, more daring, fueled by a belief in himself than he’d ever had before, and it showed in his work. A few small advertisements brought models to his door, and he eagerly accepted them, eager to improve his technique and find his own style.

 

Bob hadn’t really wanted to model for him, but friendship was powerful in ways Gerard still couldn’t really understand. Bob had almost looked shocked to be in Gerard’s studio, and had been awkward and stiff in a way that Gerard, despite his best efforts, couldn’t ease.

 

Bert was loud and difficult while he was trying to work, fidgeting like he couldn’t find it in him to sit still, and Gerard’s frustration and anger was visible in his finished piece. It wasn’t as smooth or careful as any of his previous work, but there was a wonderful feral beauty to it that Gerard’s heart couldn’t deny.

  
  


Joe fell asleep before Gerard could even get started, his face falling soft and relaxed, but that was okay. Gerard hadn’t worked with a sleeping model before, and the act in itself was satisfying and different to anything he’d done before.

 

Grant was tall and elegant, older and beautifully accented, so different to anyone he’d worked with before. Gerard almost hadn’t wanted to finish that piece.

 

His paint dried too quickly for his taste, so Gerard devised ways of keeping it workable for longer. As his older pieces started to fade in color, losing their shades of brilliance, Gerard found ways to keep them bright and fresh for longer.

 

The woman in the apartment above his couldn’t stand the smell of his paints and supplies but, despite his social awkwardness and anxiety, Gerard found he could calm her easily. He was an artist, he explained, he could even paint her something of her own if she wanted?

 

It wasn’t the same, and Gerard didn’t enjoy painting her the way he had any of his other models, but she didn’t threaten him with calling maintenance again, so. It was time well spent after all.

 

When he couldn’t wash the paint stains from his clothes anymore, Gerard bought more clothes.

 

When he began to run out of space for canvases in his apartment, he disposed of the pieces he wasn’t completely happy with. First to go was Matt, followed soon after by Josh and Tyler; Gerard hadn’t been able to capture their friendship as well as he’d hoped. Finally, there was James. Gerard had had such high hopes for that piece, but the animation of James’s face was impossible to freeze, and the sparkle in his eyes seemed dull and lifeless compared to Gerard’s memory of the real thing.

 

Dragging the huge canvases down from his apartment took all of his strength, and the late hour - the only time he had free to do it around his jobs and his real work - took all of his stealth. He couldn’t risk waking anyone. Maybe they’d want to see what he’d been working on, but they  _ couldn’t _ , he couldn’t show them. Not yet. These pieces, they weren’t right, and he couldn’t share his work with anyone, not until it was  _ perfect. _

 

Hefting every flawed canvas into the dumpster had Gerard’s unused muscles screaming in protest by the time he was done. The last one broke through the refuse sacks he’d wrapped it up in to hide it from prying eyes, and caught on the edge of the dumpster. Panting for breath, he shoved it over the edge, but not before catching his fingers on a still-wet corner.

 

It fell with a dull thud on top of the others, but it may as well have been silent for all Gerard heard.

 

He held his nails up to the sickly light of the single streetlamp that was still working, and felt himself overtaken by a sudden rush of nostalgia so strong he could taste the bitter smell of paint on the back of his tongue. He remembered the first time he’d painted, no more than a child, and he’d lifted hands covered with paint up to his face, marvelling at the dazzling hue. He remembered rubbing it between his thumb and forefingers and watching, feeling smear across his skin in that a perfect consistency he’d fallen in love with. He remembered having to wash it off afterwards, watching the colour swirl and fade as the water chased it down the drain until all that remained was the dull, dry crust caked beneath his fingernails.

 

Easing the lid of the dumpster closed as quietly as he could, Gerard smiled fondly.

 

-

 

Meeting Frank had been an accident.

 

Gerard was irrevocably drawn to his sparkling eyes and wide grin, a joke always waiting on the tip of his tongue. Gerard didn’t always understand what was so funny, but Frank’s laughter and joy made something in Gerard stir in turn. Frank was different to the rest. He waited patiently when Gerard stuttered, smiled fondly when Gerard slipped and addressed the bagel he was eating like it was a person. Frank didn’t tease or chide, and only ever laughed at himself.

 

Frank encouraged Gerard to talk about himself and his life, and seemed genuinely sympathetic when Gerard eventually felt brave enough to talk about his parents and the life that followed. Frank even got excited when Gerard talked about his art. The coffee was bitter, but Frank was the sweetest thing Gerard had ever known.

 

Coffee every couple of days soon turned into dinner, and movies, and more. Gerard felt shy around Frank in a way he hadn’t for a long time, but it was a feeling he welcomed, especially when Frank would just smile that bright grin every time he noticed Gerard’s cheeks flaming.

 

It was raining when it happened.

 

Frank was walking him home, even going so far as to slip his tattooed fingers in between Gerard’s as they strolled along the sidewalk together. Gerard’s cheeks flared red, and Frank smiled and squeezed his hand. His smile grew wider than ever before and joy danced in his eyes when Gerard squeezed back.

 

The rain started before they reached Gerard’s block, clouds parting for the heavens to unleash a devastating torrent on them, and they ran, hands still clasped tightly between them.

 

By the time they reached the apartment block, they were soaked through, but laughing. Gerard couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. In fact… he couldn’t remember  _ ever _ laughing before.

 

They ran up the steps and took shelter beneath the cover of the open porch, rain still pelting down around them, and Gerard’s laughter faded as Frank looked him straight in the eye. Frank’s hair was plastered flat to his head, a few errant strands framing his eyes, but his eyes gleamed, shining with something Gerard had never seen before.

 

Almost too quickly for Gerard to realise what was happening, Frank’s lips were pressed to his. They were gone again in an instant, and Gerard touched his fingers to his mouth, lips still parted just so and his eyes wide. The kiss hadn’t lasted long at all, but it was long enough for Gerard to feel the glowing tingle that Frank’s mouth left behind. 

 

This time, when Frank leaned in, Gerard met him halfway. This time, when Frank kissed him, Gerard felt everything, the warmth of Frank's lips, the spark of adrenaline, the thrill of his first kiss. Frank's hand curled around the back of his neck and Gerard leaned into it, tasting water and coffee and heat. He shivered, goosebumps rising on his arms, and Frank ran his hands over them, smoothing them away before they parted, both gasping for breath.

 

Frank’s face shone with an awed wonder that Gerard knew must be mirrored in his own eyes, and his compulsion to capture that utter faultlessness in still-life for an eternity was too big, the craving too strong to resist.

 

Relationships ran their course, people grew apart and feelings faded. It was inevitable.

 

Frank was someone Gerard couldn’t risk losing.

 

_ Do you want to come up? _

 

He couldn’t. Gerard needed to have Frank by his side for good.

 

-

 

Breathing deeply, Gerard inhaled the rich, coppery smell of his paint.

 

The door to the apartment closed with a resolute click behind them, and Gerard watched Frank cast wide eyes around his private collection - Patrick and Pete, their bodies slumped together in an everlasting embrace, Grant and Bob, their once-bright eyes now glazed and forever staring into the sunset, Bert’s neck ringed with angry, purple bruising, Joe’s gentle face streaked with cracked, rusted-brown - and a panicked whisper choked out from his throat.

 

_ What have you done to them... _

 

Gerard smiled.

 

Frank would be his most beautiful creation yet.


End file.
